


Trick Work

by ophin



Category: What We Do in the Shadows (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Crack, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Vampire Hunter Guillermo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-04
Updated: 2020-07-16
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:14:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25078210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ophin/pseuds/ophin
Summary: Nandor had found the mark to be irritating, useless and cloying. He’d had moments where he’d just wanted to scratch it off.Hunting for witches had become the a popular pastime for humans, alongside chicken fights and public hangings, had brought about a secondary interest for humans, in slaying vampires.He finds that the mark seems to burn whenever they are near, like his arm has been brushed with holy water. He seems to be the only one with this skill, narrowly avoiding some close calls. Others aren’t so lucky.He might be lonely. He tries not to think about it.
Relationships: Guillermo de la Cruz/Nandor the Relentless, Laszlo Cravensworth/Nadja
Comments: 41
Kudos: 120





	1. 1

Vampirism is just an intense, painful second puberty; at least, that’s how Nandor sees it.

His body aches; his teeth hurt. He’s sweaty, then he’s not, then he’s sweaty again. He couldn’t see the changes wholly for himself, though all his 37 wives had, when they’d left him.

He can see the black mark running across his lower arm, just below his elbow. He didn’t recognize the script on his arm.

“What’s this?” Nandor asks.

“Latin, I think,” says the vampire who changed him.

“That isn’t what I asked.”

“You’ll find out, in time.”

*

He kills that vampire, soon after. Nandor’s long since forgotten his name.

*

He travels to Europe, at the beginning of the 14th century. He learns English.

The mark reads _Guillermo._

He has no idea what it means.

*

Until the latter half of the 15th century, Nandor had found the mark to be irritating, useless and cloying. He’d had moments where he’d just wanted to scratch it off.

Hunting for witches had become the a popular pastime for humans, alongside chicken fights and public hangings, had brought about a secondary interest for humans, in slaying vampires.

He finds that the mark seems to burn whenever they are near, like his arm has been brushed with holy water. He seems to be the only one with this skill, narrowly avoiding some close calls. Others aren’t so lucky.

He _might_ be lonely. He tries not to think about it.

*

Nandor meets Nadja and Laszlo on the boat over.

He regrets agreeing with his familiar to go on that boat. Nadja and Laszlo have seemed to commemorate their journey to the new world - by fucking on every surface possible, including both the inside and outside of Nandor’s coffin. Their cackling seems to haunt his sleep.

Nadja and Laszlo also kept trying to bait him into joining their conversations, annoyingly.

“Now, remember my darling,” Laszlo says to Nadja, the three stepping across the empty ship deck, Nandor keeping a wide berth away from them, though still keeping in step, “no matter how delicious the Captain may look, we must not eat him.”

“It’s such a shame, such rosy red cheeks, like a little dolly,” she reconsiders this, frowning, “but on an old, wrinkly man.”

“Just remember what happened Jan, darling.”

Nandor’s intrigue got the better of him.

“What happened to this ‘ _Jan_ ’?” Nandor asks, with instant regret.

“He decided to get on a boat,” Nadja explains. “He couldn’t help himself.”

“Within weeks, he’d eaten the crew,” Laszlo continues, “the passengers and the captain. He thought that this ship steering malarkey would be a cinch, a doddle, a ding dang doozy.”

“Like a bloody idiot, he was steering the boat in circles, ended in a storm and then crashed it to little pieces.”

“The last we heard of him,” Laszlo says, “he was stranded in fucking _Greenland_ -”

“-living like a wild bear, living off sea ducks and snow foxes.”

“Oh,” Nandor grimaces, “how unfortunate.”

“Unfortunate indeed,” Laszlo says, “even if we half starve on disgusting scurvy-ridden sailors, I say, it’s better than that.”

Laszlo then stretched out his neck, Nandor noticing the edge of a black mark, out the corner of his eye, peeking out under Laszlo’s ruffled collar. He doesn’t recognize the script or language it’s written in. 

“What’s that?”

“What’s a what old chap?”

“The,” he gestures to Laszlo, “the thing. The thing on your-.”

“Oh, this old thing,” Laszlo says, pulling down his collar. Nandor didn’t recognize the language the script was written in, “you don’t know what it is? How can you not know what it is?”

“I do know what it is!”  
“You just said that you don’t know what it is,” Laszlo argues, “didn’t you say you were born in the 13th century, and you say you do know - what you don’t know, what this is?”

“I’ve been busy, these past 600 years!”

“Doing what, exactly?”

Nandor hisses, baring his teeth.

“Lots of things,” Nandor counters. “Who do you think started the crafts movement, hm?”

Nadja rolled her eyes, stepping in to intervene.  
“Well, if you say you don’t know,” Nadja says. “I have one, on a very sensual, private part of my body.”

“I can imagine,” Nandor mutters, frowning.

“-my mark says Laszlo, all vampires have one. It’s a very basic, vampiric knowledge.”

“-all vampires have Laszlo written on them? But-”

“No. It’s like you have your very sexy other half written on your skin. Then you can go find them, easy peasy.”

“Piss easy,” Laszlo agrees.

“I see,” Nandor nods. “And how long did it take you to find Laszlo?”

“Not very long,” Nadja shrugs. “Maybe a hundred years? A little less, maybe?”

“Oh,” Nandor says, disappointed. “You don’t know any _Guillermos_ , do you?”

*

Nandor catches the scent of someone virginial two blocks off, before his feet practically lead him to the human without thinking.

Nandor hasn’t smelt anyone this impelling since he was first turned, and he couldn’t hold back the hunger, then. You learn by at least your bicentenary not to drool in the presence of prey, it tends to scare them off; Nandor swallows it back.

It isn’t yet midnight; the streets are busy. People are clustered together near the bus stop, including the source of the delicious smell. He stands beside the short, curly haired human in the cosy looking sweater, who is currently typing on his electronic mobile device.

Nandor digs his nails into the palms of his hands, gritting his teeth. He hopes the other group of people get on a different bus. He isn’t very good at hypnotizing large groups of people.

He tries not to inhale. At this point, it’s just a very old habit.

“-are you a LARPer?”

“What?” It takes Nandor a while to catch up, with the words coming out of the man’s mouth.  
“It’s just- sorry- you don’t see many people dressed up as vampires, outside of Halloween,” the man says, “not that that’s a bad thing!”

Nandor’s shoulders stiffen, the human must know he’s a vampire. It is possible he might have to eat or at least kill all the humans here.

“-it’s just that vampires don’t seem as popular in pop culture these days. But I love vampires. So, it’s nice to see someone in costume.”

“Ah, yes. I have come from a human costume fancy party,” Nandor might as well go along with the conversation, before he eats him, “everyone voted for me as dressed best.”

“Wow,” the man says, “Your costume’s so detailed, did you make the cape yourself?”  
“No! Do I look like a needle-wielding river peasant, sewing my rags to make myself clothes?” Nandor says, almost insulted, “I possessed the cape in 1862, from a t- an Italian merchant. With coins.”

He knows many vampires who have taken up crochet and needlework to pass the time. Nandor doesn’t want to admit that he’s not very good at sewing, all the times he’s tried he’s ended up accidently stabbing himself multiples times with a needle. He admires the work of needle-wielding river peasants. He’s stuck to the gentler aspects of crafting.

“It’s vintage?” The man asks. “That’s so cool.”  
It almost a shame Nandor’s about to eat him.

“-I’m Guillermo, if I forgot- I mean- didn’t say.”

Nandor pauses. He takes a step back. 

“Are you sure?”

“Am I sure of my own name?” ‘ _Guillermo_ ’ says, incredulously.

“Are you tricking me? Is this a trick?” Nandor says, “It’s not like a second, middle name?”

“No- what? No. Guillermo is my given name.”

Nandor stares at him.

“Why? Is that a problem?”


	2. 2

“I used to be a patron of Madame Tussaud in the 1830s. I had many a wax figure of myself, enough in fact to open my own gallery if I wanted to,” Laszlo says to the documentary crew, ushering them through the corridor, into Nandor’s room, “there were wax figures of myself doing many a different thing. There was a wax figure of myself looking rather handsome in my nightgown, another was I pruning, one was mid-orgasm.”

“I burnt them,” Nadja shrugs, “we were running out of candles, and space.”

“So, I look at this Nandor,” Laszlo continues, undeterred, “still as a statue, and I think, Madame Tussaud has done it again, the brilliant bastard. Why the fuck she thinks I’d want a wax Nandor, I don’t care.”

Nandor stands, completely still, staring at a wall in his room; the cameras zoom in on him. The crew seem to be buzzing at this new development.

“And then I remembered, Madame Tussaud is fucking dead,” Laszlo says.

“Nandor’s been stood like that for bloody hours,” Nadja explains, “like a depressed donkey stuck in a stable, staring at a wall.”

“We thought the change might be permanent, so we considered using him as a cape holder of some kind.”

Nandor mutters something.

“What was that?” Laszlo asks.

“- _almost ate him_.”

“What? Who?”  
“ _Guillermo_.”

“You have found your very sexy other half?” Nadja asks.

“That’s great, old chap!”  
“No! It is not great!”

“Why? Was he very ugly?” Nadja says, with a frown. “How disappointing.”

“No! I did not know Guillermo was Guillermo,” Nandor says, mostly to the wall, “and I almost ate him.”

“Well, that is the thing to do,” Laszlo says, “Unless you’ve forgotten. You knock on their window, if there is a window available to knock on, hypnotize them, drain them and give them your blood. Easy as shit.”

“You know,” Colin Robinson says, walking into the room, “I don’t know whether just tapping on someone’s window, hypnotizing them and draining them of their blood - would be a go to these days, without asking them first. I chaired an office meeting on consent in the works place a couple weeks back, and that would be a no go, amigos.”

Nandor groans.

“What do I do?”

“Remind me, how does human courtship work again?” Laszlo asks.

“Ooh, I think I remember this,” Nadja says, “you would leave a chicken at their gate, they eat it, and if they return it’s feathers, and the marriage is set. If it is the feet, they leave, well, you better leave the village.”

“No, my darling, I think the last I heard - you had to speak through the flowers, and create the most perfect bouquet,” Laszlo says, “say something alike to ‘ _may-I-fuck-you-kindly’_ in peonies or ‘ _no_ ’ in dead begonias or some shit.”

“You could just- ask him on a date?” Colin suggests, with his hands in his pockets.

“Colin Robinson,” Nandor hisses, turning around, “that is a terrible idea.”

Nandor seems to deflate a little.

“I don’t even know his last name. Or where he lives.”

“Well, that’s a damn shame,” Lazlo replies, “Guess you might have to wait another 700 years.”

*

Guillermo still doesn’t know exactly what happened.

He had a plan. They’d had a plan. A rough plan, or more so a rough draft of a plan, to be precise.

Joining the Mosquito Club had been the best thing he’d done, in the past eleven years. Apparently killing vampires does wonders for your self-confidence, who knew.

They’d been becoming more confident, lately. Their numbers had grown from 5 to a nice, solid 32, though not all members turned up to every meeting. There were talks of more groups forming, not just in Staten Island. With bigger numbers, they need better plans. Find more vampires in the area.

Claude had been the one to suggest it, a few weeks ago, why not set up a vampire contact? Or at least, try to gain covert info through a clueless vampire. The PowerPoint presentation hadn’t been that clear, though it did have some excellent visuals and effects.

Guillermo had been the one to volunteer, he was the one with the most experience.

They’d all been looking over the target and his common hunting grounds, earlier today. Nandor, apparently, hadn’t had a familiar in a while. Maybe Guillermo would be able to sidle in, become a familiar or helper of some kind. Maybe.

_“Guillermo, are you a virgin?” Derek had asked._

_They’d all been looking over the target. Nandor, apparently, hadn’t had a familiar in a while._

_Guillermo spluttered._

_He was half a virgin, he guessed. That counted, right?_

_“Ha-what? Yeah, no. I’m, not a- virgin.”  
“Well, if you aren’t,” Derek suggested, “there was that plan I suggested.”_

_“No, Derek,” Claude sighed, “we are not having an orgy.”_

_“Well, it’s good you’re not-” Shanice coughed awkwardly, “the plan might not go- to plan, otherwise.”_

_Guillermo had laughed, half-heartedly._

_“You sure you can handle this, Guillermo?” Claude had asked._

_“Sure,” Guillermo said, with a smile, “this’ll be small fry.”_

The plan had backfired, anyway.

Nandor has stood there, stunned, after Guillermo had said his name. Guillermo’s bus had turned up, and he had left Nandor there, still standing. He hadn’t seen a vampire look that vulnerable before. Human, almost.

Maybe Nandor had just known a different Guillermo, in the past, to look at him like that. Yeah, Guillermo thought, maybe.

*

Nandor realizes Guillermo left a business card in his cape pocket. The job description is crossed out.

His phone number and email address are on the back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me, chanting: datedatedatedatedate
> 
> welp, again, this was un-betaed so sorry if there's any silly mistakes or if if bits don't make sense.
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	3. 3

Guillermo holds his phone, not quite knowing what to do with it. He got the text, back at the apartment he shared with a few of the Mosquito Club members. As much as hunting vampires was an instinct, he had walked to the Mosquito Club room without thinking about it. 

Most of the text, it seemed, had been written by someone else. So much so Guillermo had almost fallen asleep, it was that formal; the last part obviously written - or at least ordered to be written by Nandor - had been what shocked him out of sleeping.

Celeste is currently floating the idea of making merch, to gain extra funds for the Mosquito club. She’d made some more trenches with Claude’s logo screen-printed on the back.

“-everybody loves a tote bag,” Celeste says, ending her talk.

“Question,” Tonya asks, raising her hand in the air, “who would buy it?”

“Us,” Celeste says, “obviously.”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t really raise money, would it? We’d probably just lose money.”

“What if- right, we hold public meetings to get new members, offer free wine. Then, at the end of them we sell the merch, like we’re a band. But like a band of vampire hunters.”

“That- could work? Or maybe-”

The rest of the group goes into a heated discussion about what else they could make into merch. Guillermo overhears Derek suggest condoms with Mosquitos printed on them; Claude notices Guillermo standing by the entrance.

“Guillermo!” Claude calls, walking up to him, “how did it go?”

“Well, if he’s in one piece,” Shanice adds, joining them, “then, that’s good.”  
“Depends on your definition of great,” Guillermo replies.   
“Why, what happened?” Shanice asks, concerned. 

“Did you not set up the contact?”

“Well,” Guillermo half-laughs, “he asked me on a date.”

He shows them the said text, they lean in to read it; they’re silent for a minute.   
“That’s great!” Claude says.

“Good job Guillermo!” Shanice adds.   
“What?”

Guillermo had been expecting an ‘ _well, Guillermo, guess we better not continue with that half-plan_ ’ or ‘ _maybe next time, better find another vampire’_.

“Think about it!” Claude says, enthusiastically, “you’ll be able to find out way more this way!”

“I’m not sure,” Guillermo replies, “Maybe he just likes to take out his meals before he eats them.”

Guillermo sighs.

“Guillermo, if you don’t feel comfortable doing this,” Claude puts a hand on his shoulder, “that’s fine.”

Guillermo thought of Nandor, looking open, vulnerable. He doesn’t feel reluctant because he doesn’t want to go, the opposite really. If Nandor wasn’t a vampire, then maybe-

He cuts that thought off.

“Look, it’s fine,” Guillermo says, trying to smile, “it’ll be fine, really.”

*

Nandor didn’t miss human food. Though he was a little disappointed he missed out on some he never got to try. After 700 years, it begins to be highly unappealing, creating a kind of reverse Pavlov’s dog reaction. Meat smelt bitter, sour. Vegetables like damp; already rotting. He knew a few younger vampires who missed one or two things, and then regretted giving in to eating them.

What he did miss was tea. Nandor had taken up tea-infusing in the 1970s. He’d become good at it. He’d enjoyed it. His familiar at the time, had thought Nandor would make a small fortune selling tea to New Agers.

It had becoming too depressing a past time, making the tea and never having a taste, it was too tempting.

He still ordered it, in the Persian restaurant he’d asked Guillermo to, now and again. For the warmth, and the rising, almost palpable smell. He could practically taste the citrus on his tongue.

“Sorry,” Guillermo says, appearing to one side of the booth; cutting Nandor off from his thoughts, “Sorry I’m late!”

Guillermo, flushed, slid into the booth, sitting opposite Nandor.

“I’m used to it,” Nandor says, with Nadja and Laszlo you had to be. They had once turned up to a house meeting 10 years late. “What were you busy with, Guillermo?”

“Oh, nothing much,” Guillermo says, a little flustered, “just- uh, helping my friend out with something.”

Guillermo shucks the coat off onto the seat, the coat rolling off and falling onto the floor; thudding as if there’s something heavy in the coat’s pockets. Guillermo seems to flinch at the sound.

“Aren’t you going to eat?” Guillermo asks, changing the subject.

“No,” Nandor says, looking pleased with himself, “I had a very large lunch.”

He’d eaten perhaps more than his usual fill, he didn’t want to be a risk to Guillermo, with his delectable scent. He’d tried squirting Nadja’s stolen perfume up his nose, thinking it might block out the smell. It didn’t.

His nostrils still stung.

“Won’t the staff mind?” Guillermo asks, pushing the subject.

“Oh, no, they won’t mind,” Nandor answers, “I tipped one of them a coin once. I thought it was worthless. It was apparently worth a lot of money; they haven’t worked here since.”

“What was it?”  
“I think it was- a floor- in? A _florin_?”

“Wait- isn’t that worth a lot of money?”

“I know. Untold riches. Gone,” Nandor replies, “they think I’m some kind of penniless beachcomber, too, looking for bits of metal.”

“So, did you get any of the money?”  
“No,” Nandor says, “they gave me my very own booth.”

He gestures to the framed photograph of the waiter, and himself, looking enthusiastic, holding a large cheque. Nandor doesn’t really know what expression Guillermo is making.

Nandor places his hands round his mug, reflexively, again; the tea’s starting to go cold.

“Can I try?” Guillermo asks, “the tea, I mean.”  
Nandor stops himself from grimacing. The word - _unhygienic_ , comes to mind, even though he wasn’t even drinking it. He slides the glass mug to Guillermo wordlessly.

Nandor digs his fingernails into his knee, as Guillermo looks decidedly edible; as he blows on the lukewarm tea without thinking, and takes a sip.

“Mm,” Guillermo breathes, “it’s good.”

Guillermo passes the tea back to Nandor. Their hands brush.

“I’m-” Nandor bares his teeth, looking pained for a second, “I appreciated you agreed to this meeting, Guillermo.”

Nandor offers out a hand, palm up.

Guillermo looks confused, for a moment, he then takes it, and grasps his hand. Guillermo’s hand is warm.

*

They’re waiting for Guillermo’s friend to pick him up, standing outside the restaurant. If this was a normal date, vampirism excluded, he would have said it went well. There was a moment where he’d realized one of his stakes had fallen out his pocket, and he’d had to kick under another table, but otherwise, it had been strangely and welcomingly uneventful for a change.

“I know what you are,” Guillermo can’t help himself.

Nandor pauses.

“This isn’t _Twilight_ , Guillermo,” Nandor rolls his eyes, “it’s very easy to say vampire.”

“Oh,” Guillermo says, expecting a stronger reaction or at least denial, “right.”

“How did you guess?” Nandor asks.  
“Uh-?” Guillermo says, he gestures to Nandor’s clothing, “You don’t exactly blend in. Not that that’s a bad thing.”

“It was difficult. In the 80s, and in 90s, there were many changes in fashion, it was tiresome to keep up. So, I gave up in trying to,” Nandor frowns. “Too much denim.”

“I don’t think anyone liked the double denim,” Guillermo replies, “I think the cape is much cooler.”

“You do?” Nandor says, his ego obviously inflated.

“Sometimes, I wish I could pull off a cape.”

“Well, obviously- not this one,” Nandor says, “you’d be like a mouse drowning in a bucket of clothing.”

“Uhuh.”

“Though the image is appealing.”

“Me drowning?” Guillermo asks, frowning.   
“You, wrapped in my cape,” Nandor says, “like a gift.”

Guillermo hasn’t quite seen that look one someone’s face before. He thinks, maybe, Nandor might kiss him.   
“Perhaps a- little cape, those shoulder ones,” Nandor says, stepping away suddenly, “very fashionable.”  
Guillermo’s surprised that he’s disappointed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> welp! again, sorry if there are any silly mistakes in this chapter!
> 
> Thank you for reading! : )

**Author's Note:**

> this is again un-betaed, so sorry if there are any terrible grammar/spelling mistakes or if I just don't make sense heh
> 
> all my fics happen at bus stops lol
> 
> thank you for reading!


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